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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142114">The dark path to understanding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_it_to_julia/pseuds/BiLo%20Ren'>BiLo Ren (do_it_to_julia)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Cultural Differences, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Episode: s04e01-02 Way of the Warrior, Explicit Sexual Content, Gang Rape, I was gonna post this on anon but then I remembered I didn't give a fuck, M/M, Minor character death (heavily implied), Multi, Nonconathon Treat, POV Julian Bashir, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_it_to_julia/pseuds/BiLo%20Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You're not like them, Garak."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>"No,” he replied, sounding a little defeated. “According to those Klingons, I am</i> exactly <i>like them. I could have been any Cardassian at all. And that, oddly, is what hurts the most."</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Drex/Elim Garak, Elim Garak/Original Male Character(s), Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Nonconathon 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The dark path to understanding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbat/gifts">ratbat</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyNarcissus/gifts">GreyNarcissus</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Story time: A long time ago, GreyNarcissus and I were planning to collaborate on a Nonconathon treat for someone. Then Real Life happened and we didn't. Recently, I found a quick first draft I'd written buried in my google docs and thought, fuck it, I'll tidy that up and post it.</p><p>So, to <b>ratbat</b>: I'm sorry this is so late, even if you didn't know it existed before now. I hope it's alright.<br/>And to <b>GreyNarcissus</b>: Thank you for being you. May we successfully collaborate on something one day!</p><p>As always, please read the tags, and do not proceed if you believe this fic may cause you harm.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ah, good. Finally considering some decent clothing, I see."</p><p>In fact, he had been doing nothing of the sort, but when you were waiting alone in Garak's shop, there wasn't much else to do except browse the racks. Julian turned around to shoot the proprietor a wry look. "Just browsing," he said.</p><p>"Just browsing?" Garak repeated incredulously. He moved to loop his arms around Bashir from behind, lips pressed affectionately to the doctor's neck. "My dear, if you do want me to start being open about our relationship, you simply must rethink your wardrobe. A tailor can't afford to have his boyfriend walk around in these…"</p><p>He made a broad gesture up and down, still holding on to Julian with the other arm. Julian raised both eyebrows and turned, loosely reciprocating Garak's embrace.</p><p>"In my nicest civilian outfit? Which I put on especially for you?"</p><p>"Hmm." Garak pressed his forehead to Julian's. "I think I can safely say those trousers would look <em>far</em> better on the floor."</p><p>Julian laughed and kissed him. He knew Garak was still wary of being seen, but here, where there were no windows looking into this part of the shop and the place was closed for lunch anyway, they could relax and be themselves. In consequence, neither of them had expected the doors to slide open a moment later.</p><p>Garak hastily disentangled himself from Julian's arms, and the doctor brushed himself down, but it was too late - from the look on the Klingons' faces, they'd already seen them, and they weren't happy.</p><p>The hairs on the back of Julian's neck prickled in warning. A sound of footfalls from behind told Julian that at least two more Klingons had joined them. He was about to take Garak's arm and alert him when Garak looked the first Klingon up and down and then spoke.</p><p>"Well, let me guess. You're either lost, or desperately searching for a good tailor."</p><p>Julian felt a push to his chest, and realized belatedly that Garak was trying to get him to leave, drawing their visitors' attention to himself in hopes of allowing the doctor to escape, but it was too late; all their exits were blocked, and the Klingons were drawing in closer.</p><p>"Guess again," growled the ringleader, a tall Klingon who looked slightly younger than the others. He drew his fist back.</p><p>"No!" Julian shouted as the blow landed over Garak's face with a sickening slap. He shrank back against a rack of dresses and fumbled for his combadge - currently stashed in his pocket - but another Klingon grabbed him by the wrist and struck him hard across the jaw. Julian's vision flashed white with pain.</p><p>There was no time to consider why the Klingons were attacking them, no recourse left but to fight, and so Julian fought, drawing on his hand-to-hand combat training and enhanced reflexes to try and scrape some advantage over his assailants. He dropped low and barreled into the stomach of one, downing him temporarily, but it wasn't enough. A second Klingon grabbed him and punched him again, this time directly in the back of the head.</p><p>The impact was nauseatingly painful, and Julian's legs collapsed beneath him. He noticed with a kind of amused detachment that the analytical part of his brain was ticking along quite happily, diagnosing himself with a concussion and speculating on the amount of swelling the punch had caused, the probability of long-term damage, the optimal treatments.</p><p>Filing the pain away for later, Julian swept the second Klingon’s ankle with his own, sending the warrior sprawling. He used the opportunity to scramble back, an attempt to gain some distance and recover, but the first Klingon was up on his feet again and within moments there was a hand in his hair, a <em>d’k tahg</em> blade pressed to his throat. After that, there was no more resisting.</p><p>He felt himself being dragged into a kneeling position. There was blood trickling down the side of his face, disconcertingly fast, but Julian couldn't bring himself to be concerned any more, not when he saw what was happening to Garak. The tailor had fared even worse in the scuffle and was now pinned face-down on the floor of his shop by the other three; two of them had <em>d’k tahg</em> drawn, and Julian noticed with horror that both blades were wet with blood. The third, the ringleader, was tearing at Garak's waistband.</p><p><em><em> "</em></em>Oh, come now," Garak croaked, with a subtle tremor in his voice. "This is my finest pair of trousers. Perhaps you'd allow me to-"</p><p>One of the Klingons holding him down delivered a vicious hit to the side of Garak's face. Julian stared at him, breathing hard, confused and terrified in equal measure. Why were they undressing him? What did they plan to do? If only Julian could free one of his hands, reach the badge in his pocket…</p><p>"Well, if we are going to do this," Garak managed, "You could at least buy me dinner first." There was blood staining the side of the Cardassian’s shirt, a tear in the fabric that suggested a stab wound. Julian felt the blood withdraw from his face as realization dawned.</p><p>“Don't. Please! He needs urgent medical attention!" But the Klingons didn’t seem to care. Desperately, Julian tried a different tack. “Look, you’re making a grave mistake. I am a <em>Starfleet officer</em> -”</p><p>"You are nothing but a coward and a Cardassian's whore," one of them growled. The doctor still couldn't differentiate between them, not when his vision was blurring like this. Garak's trousers and underwear were at his ankles, now, and the ringleader was unbuckling his own belt with a sneer.</p><p>"Go ahead. Tell the whole station how we stripped you of what little dignity you had," he spat, as he revealed his ridged, hardening member and knelt down between Garak's knees. “We do not answer to your <em>Starfleet</em>.”</p><p>Julian tried in vain to wrench his arms free. He could see Garak's eyes unfocusing, could see the careful pace of the tailor's breaths as if he were already preparing for more pain.</p><p>"How can there be any honour in this?" he said, desperately. "You've proven your point, just - please! Don’t do this to him!"</p><p>The blade against Julian's throat only pressed in harder. "Who are you to speak of honour?" one of them hissed.</p><p>"He is a Cardassian, and a traitor to his people - this is more than he deserves," the ringleader added, as he positioned himself - oh, <em>hells</em> - against Garak's bare thighs, his hand moving between them.</p><p>Garak made a brief and agonized choking sound. There was nothing to ease his assailant’s entry, not even spit, and Julian could not help but picture the kind of damage Garak's body would incur from this.</p><p>"You know," Garak offered abruptly, his voice strained, "When your people elect to - ah! - to assert their dominance, they're usually armed with a larger weapon."</p><p><em> Oh, Garak, no,</em> Julian thought, biting his lip to avoid saying the words out loud. <em>Please just stop talking. </em></p><p>The ringleader growled and drew his <em>d’k tahg</em>, slamming the hilt against Garak’s temple before pressing the blade to the back of his neck. "Shut up," he gritted out, "Or the human is next."</p><p>That <em>did</em> scare Garak into keeping quiet, and the fact made Julian's heart crack in two. Aching and nauseated, all he could do was watch as the Klingon began fucking his lover in earnest, each vicious pump of his hips causing the tailor to wince in pain as the pool of blood by his flank grew steadily and ominously larger on the ground.</p><p>Why hadn't Julian been able to fight them off? Why couldn't he have offered himself instead? Garak's gaze was fixed on the floor beside him, and Julian had no idea whether sustained eye contact would comfort him or simply compound his humiliation.</p><p>The ringleader's movements sped up and stuttered, and he let out a roar of triumph as he came. Julian squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Garak was staring straight at him, and suddenly, Julian couldn't bring himself to look away any more. Though he knew he should be assessing the man’s injuries - could see more smears of Cardassian blood in the corner of his vision, bruises already forming on those pale thighs - to scrutinize them any more closely would have felt like a violation, and to avert his gaze like an abandonment.</p><p>There was something almost resigned about the tailor's expression, but it was clear he was trying to put on a brave front. Then the next Klingon knelt down behind him, and Garak cried out, his eyes snapping ahead once more.</p><p>The whole act seemed a mockery of what had happened between the two of them so many times before. Julian tried not to think about the way Garak gasped when he penetrated him, the loving clasp of his arms, the feel of his ridged neck under Julian's lips in the warm privacy of his quarters. Now Garak's flesh was pale and clammy with sweat, and his hands were curled into fists, and what had once been a gesture of mutual affection and trust between them had become nothing but a cruel leveraging of power.</p><p>In that moment, Julian could have broken down entirely. Instead, he steeled himself, and made plans.</p><p>
  <em> If they're all taking turns, one of them will let go of me. I'll need to be ready. All I need to do is get to my combadge and alert security, and then, somehow, keep them from killing us until help arrives. </em>
</p><p>"Ah!" Garak's eyes were screwed shut now, and he was gasping with pain. The second Klingon was even rougher than the first, and seemed to be relishing the opportunity to inflict harm.</p><p><em> Bleeding</em>, Julian's mind offered. <em>You'll need to stop the bleeding, internal and external. You'll need a surgical team, a forensic kit, a counsellor- </em></p><p>The second one came with an obscene grunt. He held there for a moment, and then stood, kicking Garak's ankle in the process. The Cardassian struggled briefly as two of them switched places. Julian readied himself for the opportunity to move, but it never came. They had their victim pinned again within moments, and by the time the third was having his way, there were tears leaking from Garak's eyes.</p><p>
  <em> The patient should be given antivenereals and post-exposure prophylaxis. Prescribing beta-blockers directly after the event can help mitigate the risk of post-traumatic stress. </em>
</p><p>"Please," Julian breathed. "You've made your point. We won't report this." The words were fuelled by panic. "If you let us go, nobody will-"</p><p>A sudden, blinding pain erupted at the back of Julian's skull. His head rocked forward, and the knife blade dug deeper; there was blood trickling to the base of his neck now. "Be quiet!" someone snarled, and Julian realized with dread that it was all over. He could no sooner talk their way out of this than he could fight them off single-handed.</p><p>There was only one thing left to try. And, with one of his arms now held in a looser grip by a distracted captor, this could be his only chance.</p><p>Julian wrenched his hand free and shoved it into his own pocket. As he’d predicted, he earned a smack in the jaw for his efforts and one of the Klingons holding him grabbed his arm to twist it hard behind his back, sending the combadge clattering out and onto the ground.</p><p>The Klingon on top of Garak didn't pause, but the ringleader sneered down at it and gestured for one of the others to kick the badge his way.</p><p>"You think this will protect you, <em>Starfleet</em>?" he said, and abruptly brought his foot down, crushing it.</p><p>Garak looked straight at Julian again. His body was trembling now, but there was a new kind of relief in his eyes. Bashir had been banking on someone coming in when the shop reopened, but the destruction of his combadge would trigger an urgent alert on Odo's console, a fact the Klingons clearly weren't aware of. He could only hope that the distress signal would be picked up on in time.</p><p>The third Klingon finished inside Garak and knelt up to adjust his clothing. Julian tensed. The cut on his neck stung, adding one more to the pile of numerous pains throughout his body, but he couldn't afford to be distracted now. There was every chance his captors would try to cut his throat the moment that door opened, and he needed to be ready to move.</p><p>The response came within minutes. By then, the fourth Klingon was taking his turn. When Odo burst in - flanked by two Bajoran security officers - he sounded angrier than Julian had ever heard him.</p><p>“<em>Neutralize them</em>!"</p><p>Immediately, the Bajorans opened fire, taking out the one on top of Garak and the two who had been holding Julian down. Only the ringleader and one other were left now. Julian tried to stagger to his feet as they let go of Garak and brandished their weapons, but his vision greyed out and he fell to his knees again. By the time his sight returned, Odo and one of the officers had the younger Klingon pinned to the wall, and his companion was lying unconscious on the ground.</p><p>"I need a medical team and a full security team to Garak's shop, <em>now</em>," Odo barked. "Get the surrounding area locked down, and instigate crime scene protocols."</p><p>Unable to stand, Julian found himself crawling over to Garak. The Cardassian was lying on his side, and the floor under Julian's knees was slick with blood as he slumped down next to him, pressing his hands against the stab-wound to try and staunch it. To his shock, he realized that he was crying. Garak, mostly dry-eyed but clearly shaken, put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Looks like we'll have to cancel our lunch reservations, my dear," he said haltingly.</p><p>Julian felt something brush against his knees, and looked up. Odo had taken a scarf from the racks and was draping it over Garak's lower half. If it surprised him to see Julian and Garak so close to each other, he didn't let on.</p><p>"Try not to move," Odo told them. "Medical's on its way. Unless you think an emergency transport will be necessary, doctor?"</p><p>It took Julian a moment to realize that the security chief was addressing him. "Garak’s been stabbed,” he said. “I was hit in the head; I'm not in a position to make any medical assessments. But I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”</p><p>“Understood. You’ll need to give Mr Garak some space for the transport. Can you move?”</p><p>With some effort, Julian managed to inch away again; Garak flashed him a distant smile as Odo arranged for an intrastation transport. And then he was gone, with the glow of the transporter fading behind him.</p><p>Julian slumped back. The two Bajoran officers were leading the last conscious Klingon out with their phasers pressed to his spine; four more entered as they left, with a medical team alongside. "Secure the Klingons," Odo ordered. "And make sure this entire area is secured. The last thing we need is a crowd of gawking civilians."</p><p>One of the medics knelt down next to him. Julian recognized her; Dr Nisha, an emergency response specialist he’d worked on in the past. Unlike Odo, she didn't ask for Bashir's medical opinion, but rather treated him like any other patient, asking about his injuries and checking he was aware of his surroundings before moving on to a brief neurological exam.</p><p>“You, doctor, are definitely concussed,” she told him. “We’ll need to get that cut on your neck looked at, too - Tannwy, I’ll need a dermal regenerator and 0.4ccs of trianoline.”</p><p>The woman carried on, muttering something about microfractures and cranial pressure while she scanned him, but Julian was barely paying attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about Garak, and how he’d failed him.</p>
<hr/><p>When Garak finally emerged from surgery, Julian was there waiting for him. They reached out and took each other's hands while the medics weren't looking.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Julian asked him, gently.</p><p>“Thanks to these painkillers, not very much,” Garak replied with a smile. His words had a drugged, dreamy quality to them.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“My dear, whatever for? You may well have saved my life.”</p><p>“I could have done it a lot earlier.”</p><p>“Equally, Julian, they could have chosen to just cut our throats.” Garak sighed. “Trust me when I say that kind of situation isn’t exactly conducive to clear thinking. It isn’t the first time I’ve been in this position. Or in yours.”</p><p>Julian frowned and held his hand tighter. “You’ve been assaulted before?”</p><p>"I was in the Obsidian order. That's how they would train you. Or, more specifically, that's what would happen, sometimes. If you failed."</p><p>It was hard to process what Garak was saying. Julian stared at him, feeling his stomach drop even lower than it already had, which he'd previously thought to be impossible.</p><p>Garak gave him a sympathetic look. "My dear doctor, I'm sure you're aware of the reputation Cardassians have. The way they use... what was done to me... as a weapon of war. What makes you think we wouldn't do the same to each other?"</p><p>"You're not like them, Garak."</p><p>"No,” he replied, sounding a little defeated. “According to those Klingons, I am <em>exactly</em> like them. I could have been any Cardassian at all. And that, oddly, is what hurts the most."</p>
<hr/><p>Odo came later on to take their statements. “It may be of comfort to know that the perpetrators have been officially detained, and reported to their commanding officer,” he said, once it was over.</p><p>“I just don’t understand why they’d do this,” Julian said, giving Garak's palm a light squeeze. Having established that Odo didn’t really care, the two had taken to holding hands again. Bashir told himself that it was to reassure Garak after this traumatic experience, although in truth it was more for Julian’s benefit. The fact that Garak had become partially inured to this kind of brutality rested uneasy in his heart; he didn’t know what to do with that knowledge, or how to help him. If he even could.</p><p>“They’re Klingons,” Odo said. At Julian’s look, he added, hurriedly; “I don’t mean it in that way. For a Klingon male to undergo this kind of assault would be considered a severe stain on his honour. His only options would be to quietly exile himself, or gather his allies and murder his assailants. I expect they made the assumption that you’d both be too ashamed to go to the authorities.”</p><p>“Or,” replied Garak, “They were daring us to retaliate.”</p><p>Julian looked at him. “And we’d be unable to disclose why we were doing so,” he said, with realization.</p><p>“I’m… reluctant to speculate on their reasons without more data, but I’m certainly keeping it in mind,” Odo told them. “Either way, all that’s required now is for the Federation, the Bajorans and the Klingon Empire to agree on whose jurisdiction this falls into.”</p><p>Garak tilted his head. He seemed to be looking behind Odo. “I have the distinct feeling that’s not going to be necessary, Constable,” he interrupted. Julian followed his gaze. There, through the transparent window to the main infirmary, was General Martok, with a bundle of ceremonial-looking cloth in his hands.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Julian asked. Garak didn’t answer. Odo frowned, insofar as he was able to, and left the room.</p><p>Julian stroked Garak’s knuckles with his thumb as they watched Odo speaking with Martok. They couldn’t hear what Martok was saying, but it seemed to be brief; he shoved the bundle into Odo’s hands and then turned on his heel.</p><p>Odo opened the bundle.</p><p>Inside, the glint of knives - <em>d’k tahg</em> - and for some reason Julian couldn’t understand, some unsettling sense of alienation and finality in the air between them, Garak’s hand tightened on his.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If I've missed any tags/trigger warnings, please comment below.</p><p>If you read this fic despite the warnings and want to complain, please get a better hobby.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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